CHAPTER IX-—Continued eel “Good Lord!” Phil Buchanan ex- claimed incredulously. ‘‘You're— you're not crying! My dear child, please don't take this thing so se- riously After all, The National Weekly's not the only magazine in New York" Mary averted her face, and gazed blindly out of the window. *No,” she finally managed to say, ‘The National Weekly's not the only mag- azine in New York, but if you say ‘Their Son’ is trite, and lacks con- viction, there's no use in my trying to market it anywhere else. And what a fool you must think I am! Crying because you don’t like my story! I—I bet I'm the only woman who ever bawled in your office” Buchanan grinned, showing those strong teeth that looked so startling- ly white compared with the tan of his face ‘Well, perhaps you are, but let's forget it” Mary smiled through her tears. “Maybe you can, but I'm sure the memory of my making a fool of myself before an editor will haunt me to my dying day!—Mr. Buchan- an?” “Yes, Mary?” “Throw that script in your waste basket!” “Why, I can't do that. property, you know.” “I never want to see it again!” “No, I won't. It'll be mailed to you in proper form. Now tell me, what's the new tale about? And do you feel that you've allowed your- self enough time on it?” Mary looked at him with troubled eyes. “Why, I don't know. I worked on it constantly for two days and a half—and, after all, a short is only a thousand or so words in length. Do you think I'd better take it back home?” “No. Leave it here. I'll glance over it, myself, instead of submit- ting it to the regular routine. Then, if I feel it should be improved upon, I'll return it to you for revision beiore” putting it through the usual reading procedure Are you having that picture taken this afternoon, by the way?" Mary glanced at her watch. “Yes, 1 am, and it's time 1 was getting to the photographer's. Thank you, Mr. Buchanan. You've been—nice, and I'm sorry 1 acted so silly.” Phil Buchanan followed her to the door. “Well, there's something you It's your ing floored me just a bit there for a moment." Mary smiled at “And what is that? Never darken your doors again?” *““To the contrary. him obliquely. I have to drive “Oscar?” “Don’t tell me you've forgotten Oscar! My dog, you know. He's working up an attack of something or other, and I want to get him to the veterinary's before he breaks out with distemper or the rickets, or whatever Great Danes have. We could call for you at the photogra- pher’'s if you'll go; then, after get- ting Oscar settled, drop in at Trudi's on the Boston Post Road for a beef- steak dinner’ Mary hesitated. She had accept- ed an invitation with Count Balianci for dinner somewhere, and one of their usual walks, but an evening with Phil Buchanan suddenly ap- peared far more desirable than an evening with the suave Italian. She could phone Balianci; cancel her engagement with him, “I'd love to go with you and Os- car,” she finally said. ‘I don’t imag- ine the photographer will keep me more than an hour, do you?” “Not a chance! Shall I call for you, say, at five?” “Yes, at five. Good-by.” He was, by the grace of a friendly policeman, waiting for her in his low-slung coupe when she came out of the building at five minutes after five Oscar, looking regal in spite of a nose that was definitely drip- ping, occupied the rumble seat. Mary hastily slid in beside Bu- chanan, and slammed the door. “I didn’t know anybody short of the mayor could park on Fifth Avenue!” she said. ‘“How's Oscar?” “Oscar's got a decided case of the sniffles,” Phil replied, looking really worried, “and Spike says you can hear a sort of wheeze in his chest-like an organ in a country church when the organist misses a note’ Mary turned about, and looked at the big dog through the back win. dow. ‘He seems to be enjoying life right now,” she reported. “Sit. ting up very straight and regard- ing the traffic with enormous inter- est!” Eventually, they arrived at poc- tor Horner's Country Retreat for City Dogs, and, cramped and cold, alighted from the car. Mary could discern, through the gathering dark of the March night, a rambling frame building, once a barn, so Phil Buchanan informed her—now a model hospital for canine pets. A united howl from the inmates had set up the moment Phil's car had pulled into the driveway. Oscar, feeling he had been betrayed by his master and this girl who had al- lowed him to lean so comfortably against her, slunk beneath the car and, for exactly ten minutes, stead- fastly refused to budge. Eventually, they wheedled him out, Doctor Horner having produced some bait in the shape of a very large hunk of round steak. Finally, assured by the veterinary that Os- car merely had a cold and would probably be in the pink of condi- tion within a few days, they told the dog good-by, and, followed by his accusing eyes, made their way to the coupe. It was nearly midnight when Mary reached home. Lelia had just got in, and was rifling the ice-box; while Miss Cotswell, propped up in bed, was reading. “Come on in here, girls,” she called from her bedroom, ‘‘and bring some cheese and crackers. Where in the world have you been, Mary?” Mary stepped into the bedroom, “Why, Aunt Linnie, didn't Addie “Darling, you're not falling in love with him, are you?" give you my message? I telephoned about five, but you weren't in, and I told her to tell you I was driving to Westchester with Mr. Buchanan. He had to take his dog to a veteri- nary's, and asked me to go along." “Heavens! How domestic and un- exciting!” “But it was fun, Aunt Linnie, real ly! We stopped at Trudi's on the way back, and had beefsteak and German-fried potatoes, and pancakes. And we sat in front of a big log fire in a room that can't old. No one else was there, and after Trudi served our dinner, he and his wife, who cooked it, came and sat with us, and we talked.” “Sounds cozy,” commented Lelia, entering the room with a tray of food. ‘Phil Buchanan loves to hob- nob with all kinds of people. Per- haps that's why he's so successful; he knows every phase of life. Half the policemen in New York have named their first-born son after him.” Miss Cotswell regarded her niece with speculative eyes. ‘Darling, you're not falling in love with him, are you?" The butter knife with which Mary had been spreading some cheese clattered to her plate. *“‘No,” she said coldly. “I'm not falling in love with him, and a darned lot of good it'd do me if I were. He's inter. ested in me as a writer—not a woman. And not so terribly inter- ested, at that! He turned down “Their Son’ today—said it was trite and banal.” “Um,” murmured Linnie, and bit into her cracker. “Well, I can't say, my dear, that I can shed any tears over that. The sooner you discover you were never meant to be an author, the better it'll be for you. Something will have to wake you up to the advantages of marry- ing Jerome Taylor." Mary placed her plate on the tray with a bang that was almost fatal. “I'm never going to marry that silly old man, Aunt Linnie, and you might as well know it right now. Also, 1 wouldn't have Umberto Bal- ianci, with his brilliantined hair and perfumed cigarettes, for a gift. I'm sick to death of their fatuous glances and their silly speeches. It was wonderful—simply wonder- ful—to spend this evening with a man who never once mentioned my so-called beauty, nor attempted to kiss me. No, Aunt Linnie, I'm not falling in love with Phil Buchanan! And heavens knows, he certainly is not falling in love with me. In fact, there are times when 1 feel quite sure he doesn’t even like me— that he secretly thinks I'm some. thing of a fool!” And, leaping to her feet, her eyes burning with unshed tears, she fled from the room, * * CHAPTER X The script of “Their Son’ had reached Mary the second morning after the drive to Westchester with Phillip Buchanan, and the very sight of the long envelope in which it came, and the printed rejection slip that automatically had been en- closed, sent a wave of nausea over her. There was a small fire burn- ing on the hearth in the living room, the March morning being chill; and Mary, seeing that Aunt Linnie was engrossed in her mail, stepped to the hearth, and dropped the script on the burning logs. “That's that!” she told herself. “1 never want to see the thing again. It'll only remind me of how futile my efforts are.” had come a letter from Janet Lor- ing; and Mary, seeking what pri- vacy she could, seated herself in slit it open with a hairpin. Mary Dear: 1 am getting more and more worried about Dad every day. He is so terribly discouraged, and as yet not one ray of hope has come our way concerning a position for him Also, he is not well, and bas contracted a hacking cough that keeps him awake night after night, I've urged him to go see Dx who's from ' > g after morning, he leaves the house right after breakfast, just as he's done for twenty-five years, when there really was some work fo be going Each morning he bathes and shaves and dresses so carefully, and there actu. ally seems to be some hope in his face; but he always comes back to noon din- ner, and again for supper, with no news to tell us, and a look of defeat in his eyes. I've come to the conclusic life-saver fo give Dad some relief until ition: but when 1 men. face gets red, We haven't com Ackley about their lin of 1 overheard her say, with a of her head I'l & have cago to gel wha want even get a dec cure.’ 3 excited over ithe news il appear month Mr 3 # in The Na manner, shape or form. that frantic about finances here at hom Mary read the letter again, her heart heavy with compassion. “Have a good time, darling’ — “Don’t let on to Aunt Linnie”—""To think my daughter should be a suc- cessful author!” The brave, pitiful sentences danced about in her tired mind. ‘“‘Poor Dad!” she thought. “Poor Mother! So gallant-—-so de- feated! Wanting me not to tell. Want- ing me to have a good time. Think- ing me a successful author, when ‘At Sea’ is probably my one and only story that'll ever see itself in print.” Suddenly, unable to bear her thoughts in the narrow confines of Aunt Linnie’s home, she jumped to her feet. “Aunt Linnie,” she be- gan, and her voice was breathless. “I'm going out for a walk.” Miss Cotswell glanced up from the announcement of an art exhibit. “Why, Mary! So early? It's only nine o'clock!” The older woman, discerning the girl's unrest, studied her lovely young profile. ‘What's the matter, dear? You haven't received bad news from home, have you?” “No, everything's — all right, I simply feel—restless. 1 won't be gone long." Linnie Cotswell, sympathetic to something she could not fathom, continued to search the girl's face. “All right, my dear,” she finally “Run along, but don’t forget here Jerome's car’ll be “1 know,’ * Mary murmured as she room to get a hat and coat. And to herself, she was saying, filling myself with rich food-—-be ing shown those thore horses and dogs- ings!" yughbied talking 100i noth- The days wore on—fruitless, ster- ile days for Mary. She longed with every fiber of her being to write, but the words would not come. It was futile to try, she finally told herself, until after she had learned the fate of ‘Concerning Anne.” If Phillip Buchanan accepted it, her belief in herself would be restored. The dried well of her would again gush forth. U then, she go on in this helpless daze— eating, bathing—dressing; attempt- ing to sleep; attending farewell par- ties given for Linnie and Lelia. It was now the tw of March, and they would be sailing in three days. Maybe, after they had gone, and she and Addie were left alone in the quiet of the apartment, she'd be able to think. Maybe . It was early in the afternoon of the twelfth that, coming home from a dull luncheon at the Ritz with some of Linnie's friends, she found a letter from The National Weekly on her dressing-lable Her heart flooded with hope when she saw that it was and flat—that it could not possibly contain a script. With clumsy haste she tore off one end of the envelope, and snatched out the single shee tained. WL he t'e in Why, it's In must thin longhand,’’ she said “How strange! Did Mr. write it, himself?” Yes, his signat “Phillip scrawled at the bottom y hersel nere Buchanan,’ page Then, with she began to was of the joyous anticipat read: My dear Mise Loring. I've just finished Ante.’ and fear chi i. tery Was 8 per : IMparison had px ities—thatl is some r ine other than T Weekly What has come can't the girl who wrote sother perfect short? ou. Mary Loring out which I can’t pos f ying your bea readin fo overcome it, ¢ forget iL. 1 feel sure jt. 1 have absolute fait That is I am s which, in all probability, you % why . 1 ‘is not being re d to you by mail iy in the office io see 1. Inste wu lunch with me at the Brevoort Saturday the Bfteenth., and talk things over? Sincerely, Phillip Buchanan Mary never knew how long she stood there at the dressing-table, staring blindly at Phillip Buchan- an's letter. A dull pain pounded at the back of her neck, and, for a while, she thought she was going to be sick. The frankness of his words was reacting upon her with physical violence. Her mouth felt dry and hot. Automatically, she moved towards the bathroom, took the peach-colored glass from its niche in the wall, and turned on the cold water faucet. (TO BE CONTINUED) Travelers in Belgium sometimes see on the decks of barges and canal boats little black dogs keep- ing their watchful eyes on every- thing going on about them. They are the Belgian barge dogs, and from their use they derive their name which, incidentally, is pro- nounced, skeeperkeh, and means in Flemish little skipper, writes P. Hamilton Goodsell in the Detroit News. Little is definitely known of the breed's origin. It has been used for many years as a guard on the boats that ply the inland waters of Fland- ers. It may have been distantly related to the Pomeranian, as they both have the same fox-like head with bright eyes, upstanding, small ears, and dainty, well-shaped little feet. Although the Schipperke has not the full coat of the Pomeranian, one of its characteristics is its pro- fuse ruff; It weighs up to 18 pounds and possesses the usual terrier qualities. The breed first made its appearance in England in the eighties, but it wal not until much later that it be- came known to any extent in this country. At one time, it is said, sailors on ships bound for America from Bel- gian ports would steal these dogs and find a ready market for them. It is an excellent watchdog, ever alert and inquisitive and somewhat suspicious of strangers; and it is splendid with children. It is a good hunter of rats, moles and other vermin, and can be used to hunt rabbits, It is hardy and easy to care for. Altogether it is an attractive, busi- nesslike little dog, ideal for the small house or apartment, and pos- sessed of sufficient reserve to classi- fy it in the one-man category, The breed is listed as non-sport- ing, and not as a toy or terrier. Animals and Mammals All mammals are animals; com- paratively few animals possess the characteristics necessary for classi. fication as mammals. Mammals comprise the highest class of ani- mals. Their outstanding character istic is that they nourish their young with milk. Mammals are covered more or less wid hair, possess mammary glands, a muscular dia- phragm which separates the heart and lungs from the abdominal cav- ity, and red blood corpuscles with- out nuclei, i Star Dust * Winner: Virginia Vale * Scouts Eye Graduates %* Elbow Room for Grant = By Virginia Vale PPARENTLY Jesse Lasky, second search for new faces for something in a name—at least, something in my name. For he ' as be- the name which will be wide talent quest. The boy who wins will be called “Robert Stanton'’'—which makes me wonder if some man, somewhere, who really is named Robert Stan- ton, was as startled and exasperat- ed as 1 was over discovering that his name had been kidnaped, as it There ought to be a law t it} were. agains Freddie Bartholomew is no Ik a star. Metro i promoted mger has demoted him, James Stewart, JAMES STEWART whose popularity increases with ev- ery picture he makes—and he's making plenty of them these days. These are the days when the girls who are graduated from high school or college may be taking a screen test right along with their diplomas, without knowing it. Practically all of the major movie companies are in need of pretty girls, it's said, and talent scouts have gone forth to find them. Of course, the very girls who come out best in these informal screen tests could probably go to Hollywood and try hopelessly for years to get into the studios, arry, one of He stars? feature George Hicks, the NBC announcer who has been down to the bottom of the ocean and up in the clouds for special broadcasts, and is to cover the American visit of the king and queen of England, has received more than a thousand letters from fans who enclosed blank sheets of paper with the request that he get the royal visitors to autograph them. Hicks is the kind of man who wouldn't make such a request even afm Cecil B. DeMille always orders an extra microphone on the stage when Cary Grant is doing a play on that radio theater program. The extra microphone is used exclusive ly by Grant, who waves his arms and gesticulates while performing, ST Over a period of two months The have had to change their tions before taking to the air were banned. They couldn't sing ‘‘Hallelujah, I'm a Bum" —it was thought to be offensive. “My Heart Belongs to Daddy" was all right if only Peggy and Kay sang the lyrics; Jack could play the music, but he couldn't sing network rulings reject the song if it's sung by a man. They couldn't sing “The Preacher and the Bear’ because the lyrics contain the word “coon.” ‘Shoot the Likker to Me, Jive Boy,” a jam session favorite, could be sung only if some word not suggesting an al- coholic beverage was substituted for “likker’’—which in this instance was used as a musical term, seinen als Jes, Bes “Copa, Han to at New York's "Wortd of Tomorron is one of the most melodramas seen for a long time in the Svotid of today or on (Released by W rn Newspaper Union.) CLASSIFIED 113A FN YN Special discount to Churches and | | Organizations. Merchandise and | Equipment on Consignment. | Catalog upon request GARRISON'S LILLSH 5: C | The House of Novelties i BOWE AKD ARROWS OP QUALITY. Send for price I MAJOR ARTHUR BLAC BURN » Towson, Md. ALCOHOLISM OUR HOSPITAL is devoted exclusively the trestment and correction of CHRONIC ALCOHOLISM GREENHILL INSTITUTE JSS. i8m0 "2 Write for information Booklet, 10's FREE BEAUTY SCHOOL Your Beauty Course Depends on Right Training. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers